


Use My Skin

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-28
Updated: 2007-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: After they leave the clinic in "Croatoan," they stop to clean up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Use My Skin  
**Author:** merepersiflage  
**Pairings:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Category:** schmoopy porn  
**Word Count:** 3200  
**Summary:** After they leave the clinic in “Croatoan,” they stop to clean up.   
**Warnings:** incest, graphic m/m sex, language  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. *sigh*  
**Spoilers:** "Croatoan"  
**Notes:** This my [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_holidays/profile)[**spn_holidays**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_holidays/) gift for [ ](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/)**poisontaster** and while she deserves so much more for all the wonderful fic she gifts to us all year long, I did my best. She wanted Dean being very tender with Sam.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean didn’t say another word after the car doors slammed shut. They drove out of River Grove in an ominous silence that matched the eerily empty streets, cocooned by the purr of the Impala’s engine and the watchful weight of the Oregon forest.   
  
The silence was less strained the farther they got from the town, masked by car’s rumble as Dean rolled it through curves. Sam never thought there would be a time where he actually yearned for the nasally whine of Ozzy or the pounding bass of Motorhead. He wanted to touch the radio dial, touch Dean—touch anything that would anchor his spinning head to his shaking body. He inhaled sharply, brought his hand to his chest, pressing on the wound there, a simple cut that had almost killed him. Should have killed them. Would have killed them _both_.   
  
Sam’s pulse pounded beneath his fingers, throbbed behind his eyelids, his breath fast and shallow, as a wave of nausea rolled up his throat. Dean had the car on the side of the road before he could even ask. Sam’s unbroken hand scrambled for the door handle, wrenched it open, leaned out and threw up.   
  
His hair clung to the sweat on his forehead, stuck to his eyelashes as he spit and sucked in the loamy, piney air. Dry heaves shook him inside out. He never heard him move, but Dean’s hand landed on the back of his neck, a solid, comfortable warmth that slowed the chills racking his body.   
  
The cool press of Dean’s ring on his burning skin eased his pulse back from its pounding pace. Sam pulled himself back into the car, nodded once and they sped away again.   
  
It was barely noon when Dean rolled into a motel parking lot. Sam’s throat still ached with the burn of bile, but he managed to croak “Why?”   
  
“I want the stink off me.” Dean’s voice was clipped and soft.  
  
Sam did, too. Blood, fear, death.   
  
The surprisingly antiseptic gleam of the hotel room made him feel that much dirtier. He didn’t even want to drop his duffel on the light grey carpet, but the strap was pulling his t-shirt against the wound on his chest and he let it drop with a soft plop, his hand coming up to pull the t-shirt away from the peeling tape and dried blood.   
  
Dean’s gaze narrowed on him. Sam stripped off his jacket and shrugged.   
  
“In the shower.” Dean jerked his head at the bathroom door.   
  
Dean’s jacket landed on a chair and his shirt in a ball in at the door before Sam shrugged out of his coat. He followed the long stretch of his brother’s back into the immaculate bathroom.   
  
Dean bent low to adjust the water temperature, jeans undone, slipping low enough to cling to the curve of his ass. Arousal plucked at Sam’s spine as Dean stood back up, hooked his thumbs through his jeans and shorts and pushed them down.  
  
Steam clouded the air, and as Sam blinked the drops of moisture out of his eyes, Dean was an inch away, strong and calloused fingers peeling away the layers of his shirts, unzipping his jeans and tugging them off with smooth and easy motions that made Sam feel as if he was floating.   
  
When they both stepped under the shower, Sam turned his back to the spray to avoid wetting his cast. Dean pressed in close, rubbing at his stomach with a washcloth. It wasn’t until Sam saw how pink the cloth got that he remembered the way the shots had rocked through Pam, spraying his shirt as she was blasted off him. He clenched his teeth against another wave of nausea and tipped his head back to rinse his mouth.  
  
Dean gave his wound a more careful going over than the doctor had. Eyes a dark implacable green inspected every centimeter of the cut as he let the water wash away the dried blood. Dean dropped the washcloth, and they shared the full blast of the spray until they were both shivering under the scalding heat.   
  
Sam was still shivering as he scrubbed himself dry with the thin rough towel. “Sit.” Dean nodded toward the bed, already grabbing the first aid kit.   
  
Sam sat on the edge of the bed with the towel under his hips while Dean dressed the wound. The peroxide fizzed and stung and Sam held his breath as Dean poured the holy water, waiting for smoke or a sizzle. He let out the breath as Dean wiped him dry and started pinning down the butterfly bandages and gauze.   
  
As Dean’s hands laid the last bit of tape on him, Sam saw the tremors hit his brother’s fingers. Sam caught them in his hands as Dean looked down.  
  
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was a rough whisper as he freed his hands and gripped Sam’s head, pulling their mouths close enough to share breath.   
  
Dean’s breath. Their breath. Everything Sam thought they’d never have again. He leaned in as Dean lifted him into a kiss, but instead of the rough desperation he’d expected, Dean’s lips moved smoothly on his, his tongue licking instead of fucking its way inside his mouth. Their kiss tasted like tears, though Sam hadn’t shed any since the doctor gave him a clean bill of health, and Dean’s eyes were steady and clear.   
  
Dean kept on kissing him, deep and slow like they were underwater, holding his head still with a pressure so gentle, Sam knew he could have broken free with one deep exhale. Dean tipped Sam’s head back to taste his jaw, mouth wet, the flick of his tongue setting off sparks that pulsed in his dick.   
  
Before things got out of hand he had something he needed to know. He opened his mouth, “Dean—”  
  
Dean lifted his head to growl, “Shut up, Sam,” but his fingers were still making soothing circles on his cheekbones, and his mouth gave every indication it was headed in a southerly direction.   
  
Questions could wait.   
  
Dean’s hands left his head, stroked down his sides as his mouth trailed over his breastbone. Sam knew the exact second Dean dropped to his knees because a sudden flush of blood had his cock jerking under the towel.   
  
One tug parted the towel, and Dean’s breath hit his cock, which got really happy about the whole thing. Sam’s hands found their way onto Dean’s as his brother began circling his thumbs on his skin again. The strokes that had been so soothing against his cheeks were having the opposite effect on his hips, making the blood pump harder into his dick.   
  
Dean was still just breathing on him, lips barely close enough to brush the head every time Sam jerked toward him. Sam looked down to see if Dean was having fun teasing him to the brink of insanity, but Dean’s eyes were closed, his face smooth. It was the kind of quiet concentration he showed while he was cleaning his guns, intent on his work—happy and relaxed.  
  
When Dean finally touched him, he laid his tongue along him in slow long licks, shifting his mouth until every inch of him was hard, wet and aching for friction, but all he got was a quick lick on the head. Dean nudged his balls with tip of his nose, mouthing them with slick lips, drawing them into his mouth, rolling them, sucking until Sam had to flop back and fist the sheets to keep from yanking at Dean’s head.   
  
Dean licked his way back up Sam’s dick, one hand rubbing the tight skin under his balls, the other wrapped around the base of his dick. Sam held his breath and then Dean took him to the back of his throat with a sigh that shuddered through them both. Dean bobbed his head in quick tight strokes, his hand tugging on the rest of his dick.   
  
Sam forced his hips flat against the mattress and fought his way back up onto his elbows to watch Dean take him deep, to see gold-tipped lashes brush freckled cheeks as those full lips slid up and down. The visual quadrupled sensation until his balls tightened and he clamped down hard against the urge to come right the fuck now.  
  
Dean’s fingers tightened around the base of his cock and tugged his balls down which helped a little. Then he lifted his head which helped even more in the worst possible way.   
  
The thread of spit linking Dean’s shining lips to the head of his cock popped when Dean murmured in his gravel-rubbed voice, “Roll over.”  
  
Since Dean could always make those two words the sexiest in the English language, Sam couldn’t quite summon the muscle control to comply. Dean smiling and licking his lips did not help. He made a sound of complaint.   
  
“Shhh.” Dean encased his hips with his hands and twisted until he flipped onto his belly.   
  
Dean’s hands sank into his thighs, rubbing up, pulling and stretching, and it was impossible but more blood was pumping into Sam’s cock, drawn by those strokes. His toes dug into the carpet as Dean started mouthing his hip while his hands worked on the muscles of his ass.   
  
It wasn’t as if they never took their time, but they were guys and usually once they were ready to launch it was time to start the countdown. Sam was starting to feel like he’d been holding at go to launch for hours while the crew redid an inspection. Not that the inspection wasn’t fun.   
  
“Dean, c’mon, I’m—”  
  
“Shut up, Sam.”  
  
And then Dean guaranteed that Sam’s brain would be too blood-starved to permit any coherence as Dean pulled on his ass again, licking down the crease, pressing the flat of his tongue beneath his balls before wriggling back up, teasing and flicking at his entrance.   
  
His brother’s hands held him open, his body transfixed like a bug on a pin as Dean worked his tongue inside him. Sam lost it, squirming, begging, his voice tearing his chest until it hurt. Dean got his tongue in deeper, mouth hot against him and then he fucking hummed against him and if his dick hadn’t been hanging off the bed along with his legs he’d have come all over the bedspread.   
  
Dean’s mouth slicked him, sucked him, and then he pressed him open with his thumbs. Sam’s toes scraped and slid on the rough carpet as he tried to spread his legs farther apart for Dean’s incessant tongue.  
  
Sam didn’t know what he yelled, just that it had been loud enough to make his throat ache, but Dean pulled away, leaving him panting and twisting. As soon as Sam managed to scrape a few brain cells together, he looked over his shoulder, expecting a teasing smirk, but all he got was a wide-eyed shine.   
  
“What do you want, Sammy?” The hunger in Dean’s voice matched his own.  
  
“You. In me.” Even breathing hurt his throat, his lungs.   
  
“My tongue?”   
  
A quick lick that made him gasp.  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“My fingers?” His thumbs edged closer again, pulling, teasing.   
  
“Uhhn.”  
  
“My dick?”  
  
“Please.” His own cock throbbed.   
  
“Get up on the bed.”  
  
Sam crawled up on his knees and collapsed in the center of the bed.   
  
“Here.” Dean slid a pillow under his hips and rolled him onto it.   
  
Sam waited, legs open, breath rushing hard in his chest. His body hung so close to the edge he was sure he’d come after the first few thrusts of Dean’s cock inside him.   
  
Dean’s hands rubbed his thighs again, soothing away the tension. If Dean were just teasing him, Sam knew that if he just gave in and said Dean owned his ass or whatever Dean was trying to get him to admit to Dean would give a triumphant laugh and pound away.   
  
But his brother wasn’t teasing. It was as if Dean couldn’t stop touching him and the way he was driving up the tension in Sam’s body he knew when it broke he’d be wrung out for a week.   
  
“Do it. Please, Dean.”  
  
Dean just lowered his head and mouthed his hips, licked his navel, covered Sam’s chest with wet flickering heat. Sam arched up against him. Dean’s mouth was on his shoulder, a solid kiss rather than a bite and Sam was going to come out of his skin if—“Dean, I can’t. I’m sorry, _please_ —”  
  
“Shhh.” Dean’s mouth came down on his, salt, skin and musk thick on his tongue.   
  
Sam rolled his hips, trying to finish himself against Dean’s belly, but Dean held himself just far enough away.   
  
“Yeah, okay, Sammy.” Dean kept a hand on his thigh as he leaned over the bed and pawed through their duffels. Did he really think Sam was going somewhere?  
  
The search for supplies seemed interminable. “Don’t need it.” He needed to be fucked before he lost his mind.  
  
“Yeah we do.” Dean straightened and his slick fingers were already grazing against him before Sam could come up with another argument.   
  
“No condom. Want—uh—want to feel it when you go.”  
  
Dean’s grip on his thigh tightened with bruising force for a second before he released him and spoke in a voice that sounded like he’d gargled with sand. “Okay, Sammy.”   
  
The rough edges of Dean’s fingers scraped softly inside him, his body tightening and relaxing as Dean twisted his fingers. The friction flared up like wildfire, roaring out sparks to his fingertips. He lifted his hips off the pillow.   
  
“Now, Jesus. Please, Dean.”  
  
Sam was so slick and ready that he never felt the burn at the first press that forced him open. His body just yielded around Dean’s thick head, and Sam arched up, trying to drive him deeper, craving the motion that would light up those hypersensitive nerves.   
  
Dean just rolled his hips, stretching him in slow short thrusts. His hands were warm and wide against Sam’s hips, a solid touch that kept him from pushing them into full penetration.   
  
“Dean.” His brother might not be teasing but Sam was still going out of his mind with need.   
  
Dean’s face went soft as he rolled forward, sliding all the way in, giving him nothing but exquisite hot fullness, his body just melting around him.   
  
Dean groaned as his balls brushed Sam’s ass, a roll in his hips that made Sam’s body was rushing forward for more of that fiery sweet pressure. Dean never fucked him, just rocked them, his hips languid, smooth as honey. Sam’s breathing stuttered. Not enough friction, never enough of that good bite sizzling his nerves, of the sensation of _Dean’s_ possession spreading out through his limbs. Dean’s eyes fixed on Sam’s face, holding it like a caress, his hands warm and large everywhere on his chest. He was wrapped in his brother’s body as completely as Dean was held in his own.   
  
Sam arched and took him deeper, pulled a moan out of Dean’s spine that vibrated between them. Dean bent down and caught his mouth again, trapping Sam’s dick against their stomachs, propelling Sam up to that explosion, his body straining for the touch that would finally push him right over the edge.   
  
Dean pushed off him, lifting one of Sam’s legs and straightening it against his chest. He drove forward enough to get his balls slapping against his ass, the thick sound of fucking that went so good with pants and moans.   
  
“Hold on, baby, please. Don’t want to stop yet.”  
  
The look on Dean’s face had Sam concentrating everything he had on clamping those muscles until he felt he’d stopped himself midstream and was about one muscle spasm shy of a heart attack. He had to let go soon or he was going to die.   
  
“Yeah. Like that. God.” Dean shut his eyes. He was working in and out now with his roll, hips flexing against Sam’s thigh, his cock rubbing deep inside on every down stroke.  
  
Dean tucked his arm beneath Sam’s other knee and hit him deep, dragging back across his prostate, rubbing it on every stroke until Sam couldn’t hold it any longer. The orgasm burned through him as if he’d been shot with a flare, pleasure so bone deep and echoing he felt it to the tips of his hair, his cock dripping as heat spilled from the tip.   
  
Dean never stopped rocking them, his ragged breaths turning to soft encouragement. “Yeah, Sammy. Here.”  
  
The pulsing pleasure didn’t go away. Didn’t stop. Just kept rolling through him and he never fell off the edge, never hit that explosion that would pump him clean, even though his body felt like it could collapse in on itself.   
  
“Dean.”  
  
“S’okay. Breathe out.”  
  
His muscles warned him that Dean was trying to slide out and he tightened his ass to hold him in.   
  
“No.”   
  
“Sammy, it might hurt now.”  
  
“No. I—” he could barely breath, let alone form words as that sensation kept rolling in him, less intense now, but still pounding against his skin, his dick still rock hard. “I need. Fuck me harder. Please.”  
  
“Breathe out.” Dean repeated, sliding from him and using the leverage of his legs to roll Sam onto his belly.  
  
Sam managed to get his knees under him as Dean lined up and slid home on the next breath. No burn, no sting, just a perfect stretch that had every atom singing as that crushing pleasure built in him again. Dean was stroking deeper now, almost slipping free before driving them forward. Sam found himself being fucked across the bed, his head hanging over the edge before Dean used a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. He stopped his strokes just long enough to roll his hips again, stretching him from side to side and Sam couldn’t stay up on his knees, couldn’t keep his hand off his dick.   
  
“Dean. Now. Please, God don’t stop.”  
  
A few quick pulls had him right there on the edge, and Dean’s next hard thrust pushed him over, yanked the come out of him like lightning from a cloud. His face was buried in the stale smell of the comforter and he was fighting for air, but he knew when Dean finally lost control. Even without the stutter of his hips he’d have known because of the words he could barely hear riding on Dean’s gasps.   
  
“Not alone. Still here. Can’t, can’t leave.” Dean jerked hard again, breaking against him with messy wet kisses on his shoulders. “Sammy.” The splash of heat inside him had him arching back, twisting to meet his brother’s sloppy kiss.  
  
Dean’s hand caught his hair as they rolled on their sides, and Sam threaded his own hand through the still wet spikes on Dean’s head as they kissed the breath back into each other.   
  
Dean would hate it if he knew Sam had heard him. He didn’t answer out loud, just let the words whisper through his head. _I’m not leaving you, Dean._  
 


End file.
